Chest Wound
by NoMoreJacksPlz
Summary: One-shot. Inara tells Mal she's pregnant. Then he finds out who the father is.


**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** I wrote this back in 2005 and am reposting here. Enjoy!

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**CHEST WOUND**

"Mal, I'm pregnant."

It was amazing how three words could stab harder than a hidden switchblade and take the very air from a man's lungs, but somehow, the captain of _Serenity_ found himself still standing. Pieces of broken thought flickered in the void in his mind, and he grabbed dumbly at them, hoping they would make sense when he strung them together.

Inara. Pregnant.

_Who's the lucky hump?_ he wondered, deciding to hate the guy when he could feel his fingertips again. _Can't be me. Could never be me._

_She'd never let it be me._

Aloud, he managed, "Huh. That so."

They stood on the bridge of the cargo bay, their voices faintly echoing in the dark emptiness. Everyone else had gone to bed, and Mal had been in the middle of his nightly ritual of powering down the ship, "putting her to sleep," as he liked to call it, when he'd found Inara waiting for him. For the first time, he had thought her pale and stony, the color of her beauty drained. And then she'd spoken.

With great effort, he willed his feet to move down the catwalk. He couldn't stay there and know that some other man's child was swimming in her stomach.

She followed him and grabbed his arm. "Is that all you have to say?"

He still felt electricity where she touched him, and an angry hurt rose in him, and he snapped, "What more is there? You want my blessing?"

He leaned back now on the metal rail, trying to collect his thoughts while he willed his disobedient heart to stop pounding so madly. The silence seemed to amplify every rustle of clothing, every breath. He looked up at Inara and saw that she was trying not to cry. _Just like a woman to use tears_, he thought, then immediately hated himself for it.

"You know for sure?" he asked in a more kindly manner.

"There have been signs," she answered wearily. "I missed my....and I took the test, and it was positive."

"The doctor know?"

Her cheeks flamed and brought a little color back to her face. "Yes, I told him earlier today. He—he was very supportive and laid out all my options."

Right. Options. But if she was telling him about the baby—_No, don't think of it that way_, he rebuked himself. _It's not a child, not yet, not that you could hold, anyway; ain't that what counts?_, although his heart was telling him differently—then she probably wasn't going to choose to....

"And you've decided?" He let the question hang, not sure he wanted an answer.

"I didn't plan this, Mal—"

"I wouldn't-a thought you did," he interjected.

She turned slightly away from him. "The Guild frowns on pregnancy."

"Don't blame 'em. Can't much be enticing to a man if you ain't got your pretty figure. 'Course, you still got yours, so I suppose that means you've told me early."

She flinched at his jibe but kept her voice calm. "When I was first starting out, I knew a companion...she was older. Very experienced. We all looked up to her. She was so beautiful and talented. Well, she got pregnant. I can't remember if it was by a client or not. She tried to hide it, but after a while, she started to show, and they found out. They revoked her license."

"They can do that?"

She gave him a wry half-smile. "The companion's dirty little secret. You're not that useful if you can't earn money."

"What happened to her?"

"She got by on her savings for a while, and she had the baby. I got to hold him; he was so perfect. But when she tried to come back, it wasn't the same. The Guild made it very hard for her, basically impossible to get her license back. They got their message across, and she disappeared. I never saw her again, although I had friends who said they'd heard she was whoring."

She turned to Mal, her eyes suddenly imploring. "I can't afford to pay you for more than a few months. I don't know where I'll go yet, but I've started compiling a list of possibilities—"

"You don't need to." The firmness in his voice surprised him. "I won't have you livin' on some desolate rock 'cause you feel the need to punish yourself."

"Mal, I don't want your charity." Inara's voice was equally resolute.

"Wasn't intended to be that."

He thought he heard a soft "thank you" in the following lull, but it was muffled by a choked cough and a sniffle.

"And the father?" He knew he shouldn't, but he had to ask.

"He knows. I told him. He said it's up to me."

"Oh, so you know who it—"

"There's only one person it could be."

He gave a bitter laugh and shook his head. Broadsided again. Did they sell body armor for wounds inflicted by words? He tried to remember if Inara had mentioned any clients more than once recently and couldn't resist the jab as he struggled for composure: "One of your regulars become more than that?"

She shook her head, and his heart plummeted.

"Then, uh, a friend? Acquaintance?"

She became visibly uncomfortable. "A friend."

"Ah." A few moments passed. Then, "Is he on my ship?"

She didn't reply.

"I asked you, is he on my ship?"

She nodded, and another knife plunged into his chest as the full impact of what she wasn't saying hit him.

Wash was happily married. Book wouldn't dream of sullying himself with a companion, or at least he wouldn't act on it. Inara had never looked twice at Jayne, who Mal suspected was actually a little intimidated by Inara, anyway. But Simon—pretty, cultured Simon—

"Is he of lily-white skin, soft voice, fine hands?" he asked quietly, unable to keep the sarcasm completely at bay.

"Mal—" she began, her eyes bright and mournful.

He turned his face away from her and squeezed his eyes shut. "Don't."

The doctor. The gorram _doctor_.

"It was late, we were talking, we'd had wine..."

"I don't want to know."

How could that pretty whisp of a man—not even a man, a BOY, practically—have done that?

He wanted to smash things. He wanted to tear the railing from the floor and twist it in his hands until the whites of his knuckles showed and the metal creaked. He wanted to let the scream in his chest rip until the pain had taken residence in his throat and not his heart.

But he couldn't show that now, not even if it killed him. He wasn't going to be the bad guy here. And so, with that in mind, he turned back to her and said, "You'll have a place on _Serenity_ as long as you like. You have my word. And your situation, it ain't my business. That's between you and him."

Her face was like a crumpled flower struggling to unfold. "Mal, I don't know what to say. I know that at times, we've—I've—"

"Ain't no need for an apology, Inara," he interrupted, then shrugged. "If there's one thing I've learned out here, it's that sometimes you don't get what you want. You get what you need. And sometimes that's a whole 'nother thing."

"And you believe that?" she asked, studying him carefully.

He turned and looked directly into her eyes. "I have to. To keep on surviving out here, I have to."

And the catwalk rattled with his steps as he returned to his quarters.


End file.
